


trade the memory of this night

by mothwrites



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Mind Control, Multi, lovelace and kepler experience a rare moment of wlw/mlm solidarity, set during episode 56, watching memories memoria-style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: “The good Captain here was just asking me about what Dr Pryce does with the more… interesting memories she finds tucked away in our employees.”No I wasn’t, Isabel thinks, with an increasing sense of dread. That wasn’t what I asked at all.





	trade the memory of this night

_It well may be that in a difficult hour,_

_Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,_

_Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,_

_I might be driven to sell your love for peace,_

_Or trade the memory of this night for food._

_It well may be. I do not think I would._

\- Edna St Vincent Millay, ‘Love is Not All’

 

“Are the memories… deleted?” Lovelace asks.

Cutter smiles at her – that horrible, oil-slick smile – over his glass of wine. She hasn’t touched hers, refuses to. She’ll celebrate with a glass of wine when they’re home and he’s _dead._

“No,” Cutter tells her. “They’re stored safely, out of sight, out of… mind.” He laughs at that, in the pause. “Do you want to see how?”

“Do I have a choice?” Lovelace asks. She does her best to keep her voice level, though sarcastic, but there’s a strange apprehension prickling under her skin. Whenever she sees the mind-controlled zombies they made of the Hermes crew, the zombies they’re _going_ to make of her friends, she can’t help but think of that day with Eris.

Cutter laughs at her again – he’s always laughing - and then his sharp eyes travel to the door. “Warren! Glad you could join us.”

Lovelace swivels to see Colonel Kepler in the doorway of Cutter’s room in the Sol. She hasn’t seen him for a few days – she thinks it’s been days, anyway. He looks _awful._ Everything about him is grey and tired, save for the shining new hand on his right arm. He still holds himself in perfect military posture as he greets Cutter, and his eyes, at least, betray nothing. Kepler joins them in front of the strange console, brought out from Pryce’s nightmare of a laboratory. Jacobi had been the one to lift it, and she almost shivered to remember his smiling, vacant face.

“Now, I’m so happy to have you two here together,” Cutter croons, regarding them both. “You have something very interesting in common, you know that?” He waits for their response, but they merely look at him in appalled surprise. It’s quite possibly the first time they’ve ever been in solidarity, and he laughs. “You’re quite the pair of troublemakers!”

Lovelace stiffens, and she’s surprised to see that Kepler does too.

“In which way, sir?” he asks. His voice is as controlled and measured as it always is.

Cutter turns to the console, ignoring him. “The good Captain here was just asking me about what Dr Pryce does with the more… interesting memories she finds tucked away in our employees.”

 _No I wasn’t,_ Isabel thinks, with an increasing sense of dread. _That wasn’t what I asked at all._

“And she has found some interesting ones!” Cutter continues, still laughing. “Which she’s transferred on to me. This technology _is_ fascinating, you know, really cutting edge.” He snaps his fingers as he talks. “Like a Pensieve! You know what a Pensieve is?”

“Yes,” Lovelace says irritably, at the same time that Kepler says, “no.”

Cutter hasn’t stopped smiling the entire time. He passes them both an electronic box, and Lovelace immediately recognises the set-up now she has the context. She’s done this before. The revulsion is clearly plain on her face, because Cutter smiles even harder. He shows more teeth.

“Go on,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

There’s a long pause before Kepler peels off the glove on his left hand and puts it into the box he’s holding. Lovelace, reluctantly, does the same.

“Hold tight,” Cutter says, and a familiar pinching sensation grips the back of her hand. It’s disgustingly familiar, and she barely has time to wince before they’re both plunged into darkness.

New surroundings swim into view almost as quickly. She’s standing with Kepler, in an unfamiliar bedroom – on Earth, nothing like the tiny bunks they have on the Hephaestus. It’s a room that belongs to someone with money, and taste – the furnishings are expensive but simple and minimalist, with low lighting and plenty of space. The room is occupied by two people, and as the picture focuses, she sees that Kepler is one of them.

The real Kepler, standing beside her, mutters something poisonous under his breath. The Kepler in the room is half-awake, leaning in the doorway of an en-suite bathroom, regarding someone in the bed with an unnatural degree of fondness for a man like the Colonel. She realises a moment later, with – in hindsight, more surprise than she should have – that the man in the bed is Jacobi.

Jacobi half-wakes, and his fingers drag on the sheets for a moment before his eyes open fully. “Oh,” he says, out loud, staring at the ceiling.

“Did I wake you?” the Kepler in the memory asks, still watching him.

“No.” Jacobi stares upwards for a moment longer, then props himself up on one elbow and finally looks at the other man. “So. _That_ happened.”

“No,” Kepler says decisively, and moves back into bed. Jacobi wriggles a little closer, seeking the lost warmth, and is rewarded with a hand carding through his hair.

“What do you mean, no? Am I having a really intense fever dream?”

“I meant, no, we are not having the “so, that happened” conversation at…” Kepler leans up briefly to look at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Three am. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Jacobi mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it, and Kepler still has that lazy smile on his face. They’re _happy,_ Lovelace realises as she watches. Or, not even just happy, she’s seen them happy before, but – content. Content is new. “We shouldn’t have done this,” Jacobi continues, half-yawning.

Kepler makes a noncommittal sound. “And why not?”

“Because having sex with your co-workers is a really bad idea? And, like, against company policy, or something.”

“Having sex with your commanding officer is against company policy,” Kepler corrects him. “You work in R&D. I’m not your boss. Unless you plan on joining SI-5 this year.”

“Mm, probably not.” Jacobi noses forward again, and is held a little tighter. “This is still a really bad idea,” he says, although he sounds less and less bothered by it by the second.

“Why?”

“You want those reasons alphabetically, or chronologically?” Jacobi asks, and then hums in that strange contentment again as Kepler resumes carding his fingers through his hair.

“But… we’re really good at it,” Kepler says, smirking a little. “This is a rare gift, Daniel, we shouldn’t _waste_ it. It would be like throwing away the perfect doubles partner.”

Jacobi waits patiently, his eyebrows raised.

“What?” Kepler asks.

“I was just waiting for you to say something like, Mr Jacobi, have I ever told you about the time I won the Wimbledon men’s tennis final with just a frying pan and a hockey puck?”

“Oh, go to sleep.”

Things go fuzzy again as Kepler presses a kiss to the top of Jacobi’s head, and although they haven’t left the room yet, it’s hard to make anything out. She’s still struck by that strange, content familiarity – a dynamic she has never seen between them before. She turns to the Kepler she can still see: the real one, not the one in the memory.

“Say nothing,” he instructs, although his voice sounds too tired and faintly sorrowful to be intimidating enough.

“Are you two still-“

“No.” He looks away from her. “Are we done here?” he asks to the room, but there’s no reply except for the total fading of the scenario. It’s replaced with the Hephaestus, and for a relieved moment Lovelace thinks they’re back – but she’s done this before. There’s still that pinching sensation on the back of her hand. And they were in the _Sol._

“Observation deck,” she murmurs. “Before you got here.”

“How can you tell?”

“Minkowski’s hair.” She’d cut it short in the days of Eiffel’s return and the new order of things, but here it was long, messily French-braided, with fly-away strands floating around her face. The scene has focused properly now: Minkowski staring out into space behind the thick observatory glass, Lovelace in the doorway. She floats up quietly and snakes an arm around her waist. Minkowski is startled, and then relaxes back into the touch, tucking her head under Lovelace’s chin. They float like that for a moment, in comfortable silence.

Kepler looks at her, one eyebrow raised. His face says: and you judged _me?_

“Shut up,” she hisses, and he raises his hands in amused self-defence.

She loves this memory, she thinks, as she watches it play out. Even though they were stressed and sleep-deprived, even though she’d caught Minkowski crying over Eiffel more than once, even though they knew the end was coming soon and had lost any hope of getting help. She loves this memory.

Minkowski twists in her arms, and Lovelace kisses her forehead. They didn’t have a name for this thing back then, she thinks, and they still don’t. But this was the first time she felt it – love.

“What are you thinking about?” The Minkowski in the memory asks. She’s exhausted; dark circles like bruises under her eyes, and she can barely speak for yawning.

The old Lovelace – the Isabel who thought she was human – smiles softly and lies. “What we’re going to do when I get you home.” They like this little fantasy, the one where they do actually get home, and Minkowski’s husband doesn’t exist, because it makes her too sad and too full of guilt to play along properly. Their daydream isn’t hurting anyone, not unless it comes true, and of course it won’t. She nudges Minkowski gently until she’s facing away from her again, and starts to undo her braid, fingers lightly massaging her scalp. Minkowski makes a noise halfway between a hum and a groan, and it’s the nicest sound she’s ever heard. “I have this reoccurring fantasy of running a long, hot bath,” she tells her, “and washing your hair. It’s a good dream. There’s red wine involved.”

She can just about see Minkowski’s amused smirk in the glass of the window. “And candles?”

“Yeah,” Lovelace promises, “the whole shebang. Real romance novel-worthy stuff.”

 “That sounds nice,” Minkowski hums, and they lapse back into silence again as Lovelace finished re-braiding her hair. “Thank you.”

She shrugs. “It’s not pretty, but it’ll keep it out of your eyes.”

“No, I meant-“ Minkowski detaches herself to face her again. “For everything. Keeping me sane these last few months. For just… being there.”

It’s ironic, since _here_ is the last place either of them want to be. But with Minkowski in her arms, it doesn’t feel so bad.

“I love you,” she says.

Renée smiles, a soft and rare thing that Isabel covets. “I love you too.”

It was the first time, Lovelace remembers as she watches them fade. The first time they’d said it. Now she sees Minkowski’s smile every day, but it’s _wrong,_ painted and stretched and controlled. She can’t escape the shiver that runs through her as she realises she might never see the real thing again.

“Are you two still…” Kepler asks.

“No. I… don’t know.”

They fade back into the Sol, and the pinching sensation on the back of her hand finally disappears. She draws her hand out, and wonders if using it to punch Cutter would make any difference in the long run. Kepler appears to be contemplating the same.

“Did you two have fun?” Cutter asks. His smile is exactly the same as how they’d left him, shark-like and hideous. “We certainly did find some _interesting_ memories, don’t you think? Hmm, Warren?”

Kepler pales a little. He picks his words out carefully. “That was a very old memory, sir.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Hardly matters now, does it?”

“Sir?”

“You two really do have a lot in common,” Cutter continues. “It’s rather sweet, actually. But no matter.” He hits a few more buttons, and the console pings. “Hera?” he asks. “Could you please confirm that Dr Pryce just received that request?”

Hera’s voice is scratchy, pulled apart. “Yes, sir.”

“And has she carried it out?”

Hera struggles to respond for a moment, and then breaks. “She has, sir.”

“Excellent. Please asked her to send the lieutenant and Mr Jacobi over to me as soon as she’s finished up.”

There’s a long pause, as if he’s waiting for them to react. Lovelace won’t give him the satisfaction. Kepler, however, clears his throat.

“Sir,” he says.

“Yes, Warren?”

“May I ask…” He betrays no evidence of unease, other than a slight shifting of his weight. “What was the point of that exercise, sir?”

“I’m glad you asked, Warren!” The opening of a door behind them accompanies his words and his horrible, predatory smile. “Dr Pryce has just done some maintenance on our colleagues here. The memories you just saw have been deleted!”

They both start forward at the same time, loud and horrified – “ _Why_ ”-

Cutter holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. As we’ve seen, there are _plenty_ more!” His voice slides from horrifically cheery to simply horrific as he continues to speak. “And every time one of you two troublemakers thinks you can _slip something past me,_ I’ll delete another one.” He watches their expressions with relish. “Are we understood?”

“You _bastard,_ ” Lovelace breathes, and she thinks she might actually hit him before Kepler grabs her wrist for a moment, grounding her.

“Yes, sir,” he says. “Perfectly.”

“Good.” Cutter looks over their heads to the open door. “Daniel, Renée? Be a dear, both of you, and escort these two out. You can get back to work when you’re done.”

It’s a simple act of cruelty. Renée takes her arm with a firm, gentle grip, and despite the pain in her heart she can’t help but lean in to her slightly. On her other side, Kepler stares straight ahead, jaw set, as Jacobi slips an arm into his.

The door closes behind them. “Jacobi,” Kepler says, quietly: practically a murmur.

Jacobi’s ears prick up like a dog. He gives Kepler his full attention, like a tin soldier with a red-paint smile, and his answer is unnaturally loud, too Walmart-greeter for the terrible softness of this moment. “Yes, sir?”

Kepler can’t look him in the eyes any more than she can look in Minkowski’s. “Never mind.”

They lock eyes as he is ‘shown’ out the door. Kepler looks as fatigued and broken as she’s ever seen him, and it should feel good, but… There’s no joy to be found here. She nods at him, and he nods back, and it’s a second of solidarity that they’ll most likely never experience again.

Kepler and Jacobi leave, and Minkowski, having delivered Lovelace to Cutter’s rooms, turns to follow them. Lovelace can’t stop herself from taking her arm, delaying her for just a second.

“Captain?” Minkowski blinks at her innocently.

She can’t remember the second time they said ‘I love you’. No-one bothers to remember the second time. And it’s killing her.

“I love you,” she says.

Minkowski smiles, but it’s the wrong kind. “That’s nice of you to say, Captain. I have to get to work now. Do you need anything else?”

Lovelace drops her hand. She’s wanted to kill Cutter every day of her life since she came back to this God-forsaken station, but never more so than now.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she promises. “I’m going to get you home. I know you’re still in there somewhere, Minkowski, so just – Just hold onto that.” She watches as Minkowski leaves, and there’s just a hint of confusion on her face. She pauses in the doorway to look back at Lovelace. Something in her expression falters before she leaves.

It feels like a victory, but _God_ , at what cost?

**Author's Note:**

> this was a quick pinch-hit, but i'm pretty pleased with it! merry christmas, everyone x
> 
> edit, post-finale: ... holy shit guys, i am so sorry. how could i have known?!!


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